Humbug
by Colleentj
Summary: When Henry comes home from college for the holidays, he ends up catching a ride with a grumpy cab driver- a cab driver who insists on distancing himself from holiday festivities, thank you very much. (Xmas gift!fic for thatpersonwhoisthatperson)


**This fic is a Christmas gift for ~thatpersonwhoisthatperson/Tumblr user emmaswaan/ my pal Sam.**

** Merry Christmas, you great big nerd (ilu). :P**

The fact of the matter was that Old Murray had been a cabbie for thirty years, and in thirty years he had met thousands of remarkable people, and of all of the remarkable people he ever met, one of the most remarkable was a humble college kid that liked to smile a lot.

It was Christmas Eve when they met. Murray was pulled up to the curb, adjusting the dial to find a suitable radio station. A suitable radio station here referred to something that _wasn't _playing Christmas music, by God. He'd had enough of sleigh bells and santa hats. More than anything, he was ready for the night to be over so he could get some peace and quiet.

Peace and quiet- now that was a nice thing. That's why he'd chosen Portland over New York or Boston.

A few more minutes and the Amtrak had pulled up. Travelers bundled in layers of fur coats and ski jackets flooded off of the train, piling into cabs as quickly as they could if only to get out of the cold. Murray prepared for the worst- who would it be this time? A family of four with a kid who got carsick? A sickeningly lovestruck couple hogging up Murray's rearview mirror with their affection? A staunch old man ready to complain about the commercial corruption of Christmas?

Instead, the knock that came on the frost-coated window was gentle. Murray peered over his shoulder just as the back door opened, letting in a gust of cold air, and a skinny eighteen-year-old with messy hair clambered inside.

"Storybrooke, please," the kid said, fumbling in his pocket for a few crumpled dollars.

"Hold it until the trip is over, kid," Murray snapped, and checked over his shoulder as he pulled away from the curb. The kid in the back was panting from his jog across the freezing cold platform.

"Where are you coming from?" Murray asked, not actually caring very much.

"Boston."

"The university?"

"Yeah."

"Home for the holidays, then?"

"Yeah. I promised I'd come back. I was almost afraid I wouldn't make it," the kid answered.

"And why's that?"

"Almost missed the last train up."

"Really? Why's that?"

"I was reading. Lost track of time."

"Huh," Murray replied, stopping at a light. He glanced in the mirror at the kid's face. He looked pretty young for eighteen years old. "Read a lot?"

"Yeah. I'm an English major," the kid added.

"Got a name, Mister English Major?"

"Henry."

"Just Henry?"

"Just Henry."

The light turned green and the car jolted forward as Murray floored the pedal. "What are you gonna do with that, huh? Teach?"

"Write."

"_Write?!_" Murray snapped, and descended into laughter. "The world's a cruel place for writers nowadays. They say it's a dying art. What do you write about?!"

"I like fairy tales," Henry answered.

"'_Course _you would," Murray muttered. "I get funny folk from Storybrooke now and again who act like they're living in one. _Snow White _this and _Evil Queen _that. They don't ever talk about it to _me," _Murray elaborated, "but sometimes they're talking to each other. I'm just listening in casually and all of a sudden Snow White and Prince Charming are having babies!"

An odd sound- somewhere between a cough and a chuckle- emitted from the back seat.

"What? What is it?!"

"Nothing," Henry answered.

Murray peeked into his rearview mirror. The kid was giving him an odd look.

"What's _your _problem?" he asked without being able to stop himself.

"I don't have a problem," Henry answered automatically. "Why?"

Murray didn't answer.

Hesitantly, Henry added, "You're not very happy that it's Christmas Eve… are you?"

Now, Murray was truly reluctant to answer. "So what if I'm not?"

"So that's a shame," was Henry's reply. "Christmas is wonderful."

"Okay, so I'm being Scrooge-"

"I _know _Scrooge, Sir, and he's nothing like they say he is-"

"Sorry," Murray said, stopping at another light, "did you say that you _know Scrooge?_"

"_Why _do you hate Christmas, Sir?" Henry asked, changing the subject abruptly as Murray continued to stumble over his words. _The kid knew Scrooge? _No- he must have heard that wrong-

"It's the best day of the year," the young man was rambling. "The house is warm, the food is good-"

"Food- nah-"

"-and the _gifts_-"

"Damn the gifts!"

"-the way the church sounds on Christmas Eve- lit up with candlelight and voices-"

"I swear, kid-"

"-and you get to see your family again!"

Both Murray and Henry went flying forward as Murray hit the brakes, the cab screeching to a halt just as the sign reading _Storybrooke _was illuminated by the headlights.

Murray whirled around and slammed his hand on the seat. "Maybe I don't have a family, kid! Did that ever occur to you?!"

Henry sat petrified in the back seat. "I'm sorry," he breathed immediately.

Murray glared for a few more seconds. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he grumbled, and turned back around. His hands settled on the steering wheel and he gripped it tightly, knuckles adopting a snowy tint. His nostrils dilated as he forced his shaky breathing to calm, and his eyelids flickered shut for a split second.

When he opened his eyes again, his blood felt like it was flowing once more. "I'm sorry," he said finally. His voice split the air in the otherwise silent car.

Even Henry's breathing seemed loud. "It's okay," he answered immediately. "You don't have to feel badly. You know, you remind me of somebody."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

"His name's Rum- Mr. Gold," Henry answered after some deliberation. "He's kind of like you. Shaky family. They abandon him sometimes, and question whether he's worth taking care of. But he is, and they know that."

"His family?"

"Yeah."

Murray was staring firmly ahead at the _Storybrooke _sign.

"And who's that? You?"

Silence. "Yes."

Now Murray's grip on the steering wheel slackened a bit. "I'm sorry I shouted," he repeated, and shifted the car into drive. The car sputtered a bit and then continued its climb up the hill. It passed the _Storybrooke _sign, and moments later had pulled up on the main road. Small, family-owned businesses had all been trimmed with fairy-like Christmas lights.

"You live around here?"

"Up a ways. Take a left at that stop sign," Henry added. Murray complied. His breath was still trembling as the anger of a few minutes ago washed away.

Sixty seconds later, the cab came to a stop at the curb.

"Thanks," Henry said, handing Murray the crumpled money and climbing out of the cab. He slammed the door shut behind him, and then there was silence.

Murray couldn't help but watch the college kid tote his bags up the snow-covered walkway, stopping at the front door to adjust his clothes and ring the doorbell. Seconds later, the wooden door swung in and Henry was flooded with light. A beautiful blonde woman, perhaps a bit younger than Murray, opened the door, a smile splitting her face when she caught sight of the young man on the doorstep. She opened her arms and buried her face in her son's shoulder. (She was quite a bit shorter than him, now.)

With a sigh, Murray turned away and prepared to leave. Just as he was preparing to shift the car into drive, he heard another knock on the window and groaned.

"You paid me enough, damn it-" he grumbled once he had rolled down the window, but was surprised to see that it wasn't just Henry standing outside, but two older couples as well.

"Uh, Sir-"

"-Murray-"

"-Murray, these are my parents," Henry said, pointing to the couple who stood shivering in the snow behind him. "Emma and Neal. And my grandparents, Snow- um, Mary Margaret and David. Uh, we want you to join us for supper tonight," Henry added.

Murray just stared blankly. "What-"

"We don't want you to be alone. Not tonight," the woman introduced as Mary Margaret said in a very gentle tone.

Murray just peered at them in disbelief. "But- but that doesn't-"

_That doesn't just happen, _he wanted to say. But their smiles were enough to convince him to pull the keys out of the ignition and climb out of the car.

"All right, _fine_, but just for tonight," he warned, and hoped (just a little bit) that that wouldn't be true.

After all, this kind of thing? It wasn't realistic at all. It was too corny, too saccharinely sweet to be real! Things like this- Christmas dinners with strangers- well, they didn't happen in real life.

Things like these only happened in fairy tales.


End file.
